


the pattern of the sole

by owenmeany



Category: Scooby Doo - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, F/M, Getting Together, Mystery, cw/ head wound, i can't believe i wrote a scooby doo fic and i forgot to put scooby in it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29271747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owenmeany/pseuds/owenmeany
Summary: "‘You look really nice, Daph.’ He had that similarly vacant look from class. She began to worry he was here out of obligation."Daphne and Fred investigate their first solo mystery.
Relationships: Daphne Blake/Fred Jones
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	the pattern of the sole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [interabang](https://archiveofourown.org/users/interabang/gifts).



It was sometimes hard to tell with Freddie if things were significant or not. He had days of complete sincerity and others where he was largely closed off. In biology class he watched Daphne copy up notes on bacteria growth looking almost bored, his head resting on his open palm and his eyes drooping. That might have been Mr Galton, though, because he had a flat voice and seemed too struggle to keep even his own attention.

‘Late night?’ She poked his arm with her pen.

He smiled without saying anything. This did wake him up; he stretched, leaned gently against her to read through her notes and then ask about her methodology for the next lab. She always liked that he listened, really listened. Afterwards he asked to carry her bag to the canteen for her and she laughed him off.

Over lunch Velma dropped their evening meeting so she could help her girlfriend study for a last minute test; Shaggy was already busy with a family thing. It seemed easiest to cancel, although the actual confirmation of this always made Fred a little quiet.

‘I’ll miss you guys.’ Freddie leaned forward and offered Velma some gum.

‘We see each other every night.’ Shaggy reached for Fred’s leftovers. ‘And morning. Are you gonna stop driving us to school?’

Fred shrugged. ‘No. I just wanted to say I’ll miss you guys.’

Velma screwed the lid back on her thermos. ‘Don’t you already have a car Shaggy?’

‘I don’t drive.’

‘But don’t your parents have a driver?’

He shrugged. ‘I prefer you guys.’ He set his fork down when his tray was empty. ‘You let me play whatever I want.’

Velma laughed. Distantly her and Shaggy began to argue about Simple Plan’s discography. Fred silently offered the gum around; Daphne drew a stick and watched him. His brows drew together and he sat with his shoulders hunched forward.

‘Just us then?’ She watched Fred turn. Suddenly she felt conscious of the way she was chewing. What did her mom always say? There was a right way to behave like a lady. She straightened her back. 

‘Did you still want to go look at the old Kennedy pharmacy?’

Fred shrugged. ‘You don’t mind going alone?’

‘I won’t be alone.’ She went to rest her hand on his and then aborted the movement halfway through. Together they watched the splay of her hand on the table, the chipped green polish on her nails. 

‘You look kind of tense.’

She sighed and slouched again. ‘Just my posture, I guess.’

The moment passed. ‘Well - I’ll pick you up at six?’

‘I’ll see you then.’ As an afterthought, whilst pressing her gum into a wrapper, she nudged him. ‘Don’t park in the drive. Trust me.’

He nodded. A little later she said goodbye and got up to go; it was always hard to find a seat in World Lit unless she got there early. Fred turned as though he were about to reach out for her.

‘Do you want me to walk you to class?’

She smiled. ‘Do you want to walk me to class?’

‘Yeah.’ He cleared his throat and stood. ‘Yes,’ he said again, mostly for himself; he adjusted the strap of his bag. He turned to say goodbye to the others and then trailed out the hall with her. 

‘Can I carry your stuff?’

She laughed and elbowed him a little. His laugh was worth the awkward hand movement.

That evening she made efforts to leave the house silently. One her sisters caught her at the front door but said nothing, only smiled and waved her on. She walked down the drive through the dim light of evening.

The van was parked opposite the metal gates.

‘You should repaint this.’ She slid into the passenger seat and he looked up. ‘I mean, you also shouldn’t, I love it.’

‘Kind of a mixed message.’ He watched her settle and reach forward to adjust the geriatric seat warmers. They were old enough to be considered a fire hazard, but there was nothing about the mystery machine she didn’t love.

‘It’s just loud.’

‘It’s got personality!’

‘I guess.’ She fiddled with one of the chips in her nails. ‘But I feel like it takes away the element of surprise. Anyone would know it was you.’

He was watching her. In the van it was a little darker than the drive had been, shadowed by the tree line in this part of town.

‘You look really nice, Daph.’ He had that similarly vacant look from class. She began to worry he was here out of obligation.

As he drove, they exchanged stories about their afternoon. His dad had been working him hard; she hadn’t seen her parents since the weekend.

‘Do you think you could lend me some of your sisters?’

She leaned her head against the window and watched the drawn curtains and porch lights drift past as he drove to the other side of town. ‘Ew.’ She watched him out the edge of her gaze. ‘No, hit on them yourself.’

‘Not like that.’ He laughed at her expression and nodded. ‘It’s just lonely in the house. I’d kill to have a sibling around.’

‘We could always start having meetings at yours.’ She thought for a moment. They had reached Sydney street; the old chemists sat right on the end. ‘Or we could start staying over?’

Fred stalled the van as he tried to park. When he had pulled the brake he turned to her. ‘Really?’

‘Of course. Let’s talk to the others about it tomorrow.’ She got out the car. He seemed a little stuck in the driver’s seat, his hand tentatively grasping the wheel. ‘I don’t want you to be lonely, Freddie.’

From the street, the house didn't look like it should have a history. The Kennedy family had moved to town - and promptly left - before any of the gang had started high school. They were well-liked but quiet; the little pharmacy they had run out their front room was oddly situated in the suburbs and had struggled for a few years before the family had decided to move on. The night before they left the place, there had been a fire. No one had been hurt and, given most of their possessions had already been packed up, little property had been destroyed. Most figured it was a grab for insurance, though Mr Kennedy firmly denied this until long after they had moved away. The building was almost completely burned inside but the foundations were still standing. Outwardly there was little sign of damage, barring the smeared windows, which had been stained grey by the smoke. Standing amongst other normal houses, it was like a shell. Daphne figured that was how Fred would write it up afterwards for his case files. Velma, who proofed and then catalogued these notes, would likely trim it down. She was much more factual: to her the house would only be empty. Nothing in this part of town ever got more sinister than a vacancy.

Daphne switched off her flashlight as they came to the house. No one peered through the neighbouring windows. Most people in town were pretty suspicious about things like this and hated the idea of inviting trouble. The woman that had reported the noises at night blamed squatters and Fred’s dad had thrown the complaint out as it wasn’t council business. The general idea was to ignore things until they went away; for Fred, this was like opening a door which could not be shut again. 

Fred went up the front steps to try the front door. Pressed tentatively on the hinges, the whole house seemed to make a noise of protest. He skittered back, but the wood wouldn’t budge. 

Daphne lead him around the side of the house, through the ajar gate to the garden, and then to the backdoor. The glass in the door was smashed as she reached a gloved hand through to undo the latch. They grabbed for each other’s hands and went into the dark of the house. It was cold but dry, the floorboards thin and loud and bleached as bone underneath them. By the stairs were old scuff marks, carved out by years of feet wearing into the surface.

‘Doesn’t look there’s anyone living here,’ she whispered, enjoying the feeling of his hand in hers.

‘Trying to leave early?’ She felt his breath against her shoulder. ‘You getting cold feet?’

She nudged him. ‘Does it smell lived in?’

He was silent.

‘Exactly,’ she said, and pressed forward. ‘What do you think that is?’

Fred stopped by the door at the bottom of the kitchen. It was older than the rest of the unburned interiors, a kind of pale oak that seemed weak and small. He turned and walked the length of the kitchen until he was standing by her again.

‘I don’t know.’ He lead her away. ’Basement, maybe?’

Together, almost back to back, they picked apart the contents of the ground floor. The house was devoid of any personal items. The pharmacy had been home-run, so there were no counters of shelves to speak of. There were pin-sized marks in the walls where family photos might have been, and detritus in the corners. Yellow scratch marks where sofas and tables might have been roughly dragged, and black burns that obscured the wallpaper in places. The red paintwork on the back of the front door had bubbled and warped in the heat and now looked less than solid. There was a splintering hole half a metre wide just before the threshold, where the heat had burned through the floor.

In the front room, she froze, and felt Fred come up behind her to rest a gentle hand on her back. Silently, though she couldn’t say why, an uneasiness prickled underneath her skin. It was only the suggestion of being watched, of watching, of intruding on something hidden, but it was there all the same as she pointed out the lump in the dark. Kicked to the far wall was a decrepit sleeping bag, and next to it a canvas satchel, spilling food wrappers and crumpled clothing onto the floor. Daphne crouched by it. There was a tie wound up in the clump of clothing, which she tugged out from the mess to better examine. The bag was old, creased at the edges. Beside it, in the dust, was a smudged boot-print. She frowned and went back to the stairs. On the bottom step was a mark just the same. She peered at it closer. The pattern of the sole was identical. Someone had been here. The itch of intrusion became a feeling, which in turn became a thought. It gripped her suddenly and wouldn’t let go. Someone was here.

She began to climb the stairs as quietly as she could. Some complained more than others and bent in the middle underneath her. On the landing halfway up, she turned at Fred’s sharp intake of breath. He was peering into the hole by the door. Without light, it could have been water or nothing at all; the darkness swam below it, porous, alive. He leaned forward a little more, the wood creaking. The thought now screaming, she turned to come down the stairs, but found she couldn’t open her mouth. A hand - gloved, with long thin fingers - shot out of the hole and grabbed Fred’s collar. He cried out and tried to pull back, but the arm angled itself down inside the pit and pulled him over. He toppled down through the hole and cried out again when he hit the floor below.

She started down the stairs and then stopped. In the pit, someone was whispering. She waited. Neither hand or face emerged from the hole. They were still speaking. If she strained she could hear Fred, though quieter, trying to respond. She pressed her hands to her sides and held her breath. When she had stopped shaking, she crept back down to the ground floor. At the bottom she leaned on the bannister and tried to skip the last step. The floorboard complained a little as she landed, and she waited for an inevitable reaction. Still the low voice murmured from below. 

By the old brown door in the kitchen, she pressed her head to the hinge and listened. It could have been a voice, or the wind, or the creaking of the house itself. She wasn’t sure. As slowly as she could manage, she peeled the door back. It whined as she wrenched it open, but otherwise swung silently back. She waited again for feet on the stairs or the voice to get louder.

When there was nothing, she held her breath, put her hand to the wall, and slowly descended the stairs into the pitch black. Near the bottom of the stairs, there was a thin amount of light. She stopped and held herself up against the wall as her eyes adjusted to the hazy grey glow. The voice was clearer now, though the words were indistinct. It was a young man, who seemed to be carrying a fairly consistent conversation with Fred. 

‘I’m really not worth that much.’ Fred sounded subdued. The twist in her chest almost took her down the final few steps.

‘Mm.’ The voice was muffled. ‘More than my current pay-check.’

‘I think you’re overestimating how much my dad thinks I’m worth.’

There was silence. ‘You have an excellent poker face.’

‘I’m not lying,’ Fred said, though the other voice tried to protest. In the noise, she slipped down onto the hard floor of the basement and tried to edge around the stairs. 

‘He doesn’t care,’ Fred said, voice getting louder. He had seen her.

He was slumped in the far corner with his hands and feet tied. The man - who was sitting on top of an overturned, plastic bucket - faced him.

‘You’re telling me your dad isn’t going to pay for his only son?’

Fred shook his head and blinked. ‘He’ll probably pay you to keep me.’ 

Daphne moved closer to the man. His hair was unkempt but his jacket smart and expensive. The shade of green in the lowlight looked a little sickly.

‘You cannot be serious,’ said the man, slowly. He had a dull voice.

‘I am!’ Fred pushed his back further into the wall; the man seemed to lean forward.

She knew she had to have perfect judgment. A little too far and she would miss, and whatever happened next would be her fault. A little too close and he might hear. It would have to be unexpected, or it wouldn’t work at all. She flexed the fingers of her batting hand around the handle of her flashlight. The one advantage of her family was the inherited, furious competitive streak. She played sports in a way that had made every gym teacher she had ever had slightly wary. As if combative wasn’t the best way to win.

‘And I don’t think - no offence - that you’re equipped to raise a young person. Not here, at least.’ Fred’s shoulders slumped back against the wall.

The man sighed and shifted in his seat. She stopped and stood very still. When he eased forward on his knees again, she took another step.

‘I can’t believe this.’ The man rifled around inside his jacket pocket and withdrew a cigarette. He lit this and blew smoke in a thin grey trail. She came up behind him and waited, raising her arm. ‘Kids these days. You have everything given to you - and you’re still—’

She swung the flashlight and brought it down with a crack over his head. The man shuddered as though he might turn and she started back a little, raising both arms. Then he seemed to crumple up and fall forward. She ran to check he was down and rolled him over. Mr Galton’s face had gone slack. She put her hand to his mouth and felt his breath against her palm. Yanking the tie out of her pocket, she bound his hands together before trying, as best as she could, to manoeuvre him into the recovery position. She only looked up once and gestured with an open palm to Galton’s body.

‘Freddie, does this look right?’ She sat back on her haunches. ‘This doesn’t look quite right. I knew I should have retaken the first aid class when they offered it.’

‘Daphne,’ he said, sounding choked up. ‘He looks fine. He’ll be fine.’

She stared at him, trying to catalogue the drowsy expression. It was not unlike a routine class with Galton. Fred was dishevelled but otherwise unhurt. She came over and checked his pulse, lifted both his sleeves, pressed a thumb to the bruise by his left eye.

‘Ow,’ he said, without moving. She kept her hand there as they watched each other. He turned his face and pressed his mouth to her wrist. Her finger twitched, moving to brush his hairline.

‘We should really call an ambulance,’ he said, then, looking a little guilty.

She nodded and used her keys to cut through the duct tape. As she helped him up the stairs, he leaned into her, careful not to weigh her down with his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulder. She left him out on the grass for the EMTs to come and then went back down into the basement to watch over Galton.

Eventually he cracked open an eye, milky white in the dim basement.

‘Are you okay?’

He shook his head and swallowed, mouth dry, unable to speak. It was the pain or it was the dust. He put a tongue to his lips.

‘Do you want me to help you sit up?’

He shook his head again, shutting his eyes. She watched his breathing whilst they waited together in the dark.

When the crew turned up, she explained as loosely as possible what had happened. The EMT that was filling out the checkbox assessment seemed to stop at a certain point in the story and watch her with a wide-eyed horror.

‘And he’s your teacher?’

She smiled. ‘My biology teacher.’

On the grass, she helped Freddie stand. He seemed a little cold and she took off her jacket and put it around him. It was awkward with him that much taller than her, but he was glad to and smiled down at her after.

‘Would you like to get out of here?’ Fred fiddled with the hem of her jacket, worrying a snagged thread. ‘You could come stay at mine. Without the others.’

She nodded. ‘So I don’t need to invite my sisters?’

He laughed and looked down at his feet. Finger still looping that thread around the nail, over and over. 

‘I am really sorry about that. I didn’t mean it to come out that way, and I know—’

She dropped her flashlight and keys, and reached upwards to kiss him. The noise he made as she did so burned something new into her brain; a high note of surprise, but good and desperate. He put a hand to her waist and held her there. When she drew back she watched his smile change and grow.

‘Can I carry your stuff for you?’ Fred’s voice felt soft against her skin.

‘Next time,’ she said, and wrapped her arms around him.

——

**Author's Note:**

> just personally this made me realise that (a) rescue song by mr little jeans is THE daphne/fred anthem and (b) really what i would like to one day write is a daphne/fred true detective au
> 
> interabang: thank you so much for this prompt - it was really fun to pretend to write a lil scooby doo mystery. it’s sort of a fusion of the mystery inc / zombie island ‘verses, so you can imagine whatever you want for the timeline + era of this fic. hope this is okay buddy! i know it’s majorly ooc, but if you feel anything is really out of line let me know and we can revise it - i want to give you the best exchange gift possible.
> 
> i'm on tumblr here [(x)](https://om-johnirv.tumblr.com)


End file.
